They're Good For Your Heart
by unforth
Summary: "I Dream of Deanie" Part 3. Castiel is happy to give Dean some time and space to figure out what he wants, until he realizes the reason that Dean hasn't been getting them their own room. Destiel PWP. Set vaguely S5ish. Continuation of "The First Time, Again," continued in "Emotional Constipation."


A/N: This is Part 3 of a series of related stories. All parts are on . If you want to read them in order, the Part 1 is "Can't Hold a Man's Dreams Against Him" and Part 2 is "The First Time, Again."

...there's a whiff of plot in this one. Just the faintest aroma. Sorry about that, but I have to have at least a little framework if I'm going to manage it as a continuing series. Love y'all! Thanks for the bookmarks, positive feedback, and just being your awesome bad-ass selves.

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"How can I help you?" A bored clerk didn't look up from her computer screen as Dean, Sam and Castiel approached the reception desk at Motel 9. It was late, and Castiel scanned her thoughts quickly, hoping for find justification for her rude behavior, but there was no excuse. She was merely completely disinterested in everything except the episode of the television show that was muted on her screen.

"Yeah," Sam leaned on the counter and shot her a charming smile that didn't interest her in slightest. Sam blinked in confusion, and Castiel refrained from mentioning that the woman was attracted to other women. "We'd like a room for the night."

"The three of you?" she asked with the faintest hint of interest. "We don't have rooms with more than two beds."

"That's fine, we'll—"

"Two rooms," interrupted Dean. Castiel's heart skipped a beat. Inadvertently, his magical senses picked up a trace of Dean's thoughts, images in which Castiel himself figured prominently. However, even as his anticipation spiked and he felt his mouth grow dry, he experienced a whisper of disquiet.

"What?" asked Sam, startled.

"Dude," Dean rolled his eyes. "What did I say, last time we stopped for burritos?"

"That you wouldn't share a room with me if we went to Chipotle again," muttered Sam, coloring slightly.

"No, that's not it," said Dean dryly. "I said 'Dutch oven doesn't begin to cover it' and 'you and beans will have to share your own damn room.' So, what'd we have for dinner tonight?" Sam flushed more deeply. "Two rooms, please."

"Whatever," she shrugged. Minutes later, she'd processed their (entirely fictitious) booking information, payment, and issued them keys.

Rooms 210 and 211 faced each other across a narrow hallway. The lighting was bad, the carpet smelled like mildew, and the walls were covered in yellow striped wallpaper. They didn't have a case to work on yet, only rumors that could not be pursued until morning, and a day in the car had exhausted all topics of conversation. For a few awkward beats, the three men stood in the hall, then Dean shrugged.

"Night, Sam," Dean said, turning to his door – his and Castiel's, Castiel thought with a tingle of anticipation – and unlocked it, stepping in and holding it open for Castiel.

"Wait, you staying the night, Cas?" asked Sam, surprised.

"There is something I need to discuss with Dean," Castiel said. There hadn't actually been, until Dean had requested two rooms, until he'd heard the obvious shock in Sam's voice as he asked the question. "Good night, Sam."

"It's not about the hunt, is it?" Sam said, eyes narrowing shrewdly.

"Night, Sam," Dean said with a wink, closing the door behind Castiel.

The interior of the rooms was no more pleasant than the hallway, the same wallpaper, a clammy feeling of moisture against his skin, and ochre bedding. The first few minutes passed in silence. Dean set his duffel bag down, unpacked his toothbrush and toothpaste, placed salt along the windows and door, stashed weapons in strategic locations around the room, all his usual attentions upon arriving at a new location. Castiel removed his trench coat and jacket, hanging them in the closet, and pulled off his tie. That done, he removed an ugly pastel print of a bouquet of flowers from the wall and used a sharpie to draw symbols that would ward the room against intrusion and hide them from various forms of scrying. He focused with unnecessary intentness on his task, delaying his inquiries as long as possible, until Dean settled on the bed with a happy sigh and removed his boots.

"Thank God for burritos," said Dean fervently. Castiel nervously looked over his shoulder at Dean. Dean was looking at him with a delighted expression, part anticipation, part sexy smirk. A shiver trailed down Castiel's spine like the phantom touch of fingers, a ghost of the way that Dean had touched him – repeatedly – during their time in Sabillasville. Those pleasures had not been not been repeated since Sam had rejoined them after his time in Washington DC.

"I told you before, Dean, God has nothing to do with flatbread," admonished Castiel, turning to face the handsome hunter. Dean chuckled deep in his throat, almost a growl. He rose slowly, raised his arms and stretched in a way that Castiel could not tear his eyes from, and lazily crossed the space between them. Trapping Castiel's eyes with his own, Dean stared into his face and kissed him hard.

"Dean—"

"Yeah?" said Dean, kissing him again. Dean's hands grasped Castiel's shirt and untucked it with the same slow, deliberate care. Castiel wished his knees weren't trembling. It had only been a week. He had been celibate for uncountable years, it was inconceivable that a days could fill him with so much desperate expectancy. Unable to stand the intensity of Dean's gaze, his pupils gradually dilating with lust, Castiel closed his eyes.

"I really do need to speak with you," said Castiel. "I did not say that merely to deter Sam."

"Right," murmured Dean. He nipped Castiel's lip, tongued the stubble on his chin, and planted a sucking kiss on the curve of Castiel's neck. Teasing fingers rubbed up Castiel's chest through his shirt and began to unbutton it. Breath hissed from Castiel's lungs and his resolve weakened. He took a step back, bumping into the wall, to put at least a little distance between him and more temptation that he could hope to resist.

"I'm being serious, Dean," he said, backing the words up with a heavy dose of angelic command.

Dean dropped his hands and rolled his eyes. "We have some privacy for the first time in ten days and you want to use it to talk? We can talk anytime, Cas. We can't do this anytime."

"Why not?"

Dean's frustrated look fell away and he blinked in surprise. "Why not?" he said sarcastically. "Why not? What the hell kind of question is that? Because of Sam, that's why not."

"Because Sam what, exactly?" persisted Castiel. Incredulous, Dean blinked at him like he was being unusually inept at navigating the modern world, but Castiel knew that was not the case in this instance. Dean's eyes narrowed and Castiel didn't need mind-reading to know that angry words were about to erupt, so Castiel cut them off. "Why can't we get two rooms every night?"

"Because Sam—"

"Why haven't you told Sam what happened in Sabillasville?" Castiel demanded. He hadn't realized until he'd listened to Dean come up with an excuse for two rooms that Sam hadn't known. Castiel assumed they'd spoken. It wasn't as if Castiel spent every moment with the brothers. They deserved time together without him present and Castiel had other tasks to attend to. The previous day, Castiel had visited a dying nun who deserved a glimpse of divinity before the end, helped a wise man in India perform a miracle, and made sure that a child got back a prized doll that was her last link to her dead mother. Sam and Dean had ample opportunity to discuss the state of things. Castiel had assumed it had happened, and that the reason they hadn't been sharing a room was that Dean hadn't been interested in additional relations at the moment, which was reasonable and completely fine with Castiel.

"It's none of his damn business," scowled Dean.

"So you envision us behaving covertly and seeking excuses to be together for the foreseeable future, and refraining when there is not adequate reason to seclude ourselves?"

"That about sums it up, yeah," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I am not comfortable pursuing our relationship in secret," Castiel said firmly.

"Relationship?" There was a hint of bluster in Dean's voice that would have been amusing if Castiel wasn't so frustrated and surprised by his behavior. " _Relationship_? I never said anything about a relationship."

Disappointment stabbed through Castiel's heart, wiping away all the warm feelings that his previous interactions with Dean had granted him. He'd confused dreams and reality after all. The djinn dream had shown him a vision of a life where he and Dean were intimate regularly, where Dean had been uncomfortable hearing of Castiel's love yet had accepted it and stayed with him. He'd thought that, in the three days where they had scarcely left their pleasant room in the small Maryland town, he and the real Dean had forged the same. Clearly he had been mistaken.

"Good night, Dean," he said in a voice made cold by the pain he felt. With a flap of his wings, he was gone.

He landed in the nave at Notre Dame Cathedral. His grace, always attuned to Dean, picked up the hunter shouting after him and swearing loudly, and he tuned the noise to a buzz. It was early morning in France, and the Cathedral was shadowed and empty. Steps echoed as he walked down the center aisle and basked in the feeling of the Lord's touch on the world. The stained glass windows reflected the faint light of the city, casting dim rainbows onto the black and white tiled floor. Choosing a pew near the back of the vast, vaulted space, Castiel sat, closed his eyes and clasped his hands in prayer. He knew his Father wouldn't answer, but the familiar rituals brought calm and peace to thoughts troubled by Dean's rejection. When he felt his equilibrium restored, he reflected on all that had happened, and began to see where he had gone amiss. Dean was slow to invest in other people and afraid to express his emotions. Castiel had loved him so long, it was easy to forget that Dean had not indicated that he reciprocated those feelings. If Dean was not ready to acknowledge the affection that Castiel was confident that Dean felt, of course Dean would not have discussed the matter with Sam yet. Finding comfort in the realization, he leaned back and watched the windows slowly gather light as dawn came to the wondrous city.

"Castiel, who art who the fuck knows where," Dean's grating voice raised in invocation intruded on Castiel's serenity. "Fly your ass back here, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once, and fuck all if that's gonna be wasted on an empty room." The words were harsh, but the supplication was genuine, and Castiel smiled as he rose and flew back to Oklahoma in a human heartbeat.

The room was pitch black, and Castiel used a small amount of grace to infuse his eyes and amplify his vision enough for him to see. As his angelic power flowed, he felt an unmistakable echo from Dean's soul, a whisper of spiritual light in the pitch darkness, drawing him to Dean. The hunter lay sprawled on the bed atop the covers, clothed in his usual t-shirt and jeans, hands behind his head, legs crossed. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, and the light of his soul cast a faint glow over the beautiful green.

"You there, Cas?" he asked gruffly, not bothering to look around.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel let the gentle smile on his face spread and infuse his voice. The rough tone that Dean assumed when he was about to express vulnerability was unmistakable, and Castiel felt renewed hope.

There was a long silence. Castiel waited patiently.

"I'm sorry," Dean said. A burst of gratitude softened Castiel's features even further. "I don't know why I haven't told Sam. You gotta give me some time, man. I need some more time." There was a pause. "Is that okay?"

"Yes, Dean," he said affectionately. "It's fine." He was better acquainted with Dean than with any other human, but Castiel was still learning the nuances of communication, both in general and in regards to handling Dean specifically. Giving Dean several hours to think on what Castiel had said had produced results. He'd have to learn how to bring up difficult issues without making the hunter so angry, while making it clear that Castiel didn't expect or require immediate answers.

Dean let out an explosive sigh. With a mischievous smile, Castiel sensed opportunity, and instantly he was atop the hunter, straddling him in the darkness. The sigh morphed into a relieved groan as Castiel's weight settled over Dean's crotch, and Castiel leaned down and swallowed the sound, locking his lips on Dean's, canvassing his mouth with his tongue. Dean's eyes shut, extinguishing the faint light that, to Castiel's grace-enhanced vision, had reflected through them. With another sigh, Dean worked his lips against Castiel's, body relaxing into the bed. Hands came to Castiel's still-unbuttoned shirt. Dean broke off the kiss with a throaty chuckle.

"Not wearing an undershirt today?" Dean said with a suggestive undertone. Castiel blushed, relieved that Dean couldn't see in the darkness.

"I have refrained from wearing one since we left Maryland," he confessed. Dean's chuckle burst into a laugh. "Do you approve?" Dean hummed agreement and brushed the shirt off Castiel's shoulders, throwing it aside.

Fingers brushed over Castiel's nipple, and he gasped at the contact, breaking into a needy, low-pitched sound as the flesh hardened under Dean's touch. Dean's hands slipped to his back, ran up the hollow along Castiel's spine, and encouraged Castiel to lean down. Uncertainly, Castiel followed Dean's lead, bending his head into what he assumed would be a kiss, only to have his chin bump into Dean's hair. His teeth made a loud click, and Dean laughed, the breath tantalizing on Castiel's hardened nipple. An instant later, wet heat enclosed the nub, and Castiel moaned at the shock of pleasure as Dean sucked at the sensitive flesh, toying with the tip with his tongue.

"You like that, angel?" Dean breathed against his skin. Castiel nodded emphatically before realizing that Dean couldn't possibly see him.

"Ye—" he broke off in a bitten back moan as Dean's redoubled his attention to his other nipple, rubbing counter to the movement of Dean's mouth. Where one was wet and slick and gentle, sucking and caressing, the other was dry and aggressive, generating friction and twinges of pleasure and pain in equal proportion. Each touch was enticing, and together, Castiel felt trails of heat bleeding through his body, coiling in his gut, hardening his cock. "Yes," he managed.

"Good," murmured Dean. His lips trailed across Castiel's chest and settled onto his other nipple, lavishing the same wonderful attention on it as Dean's hands traveled down to Castiel's waist. "I'm sorry I'm an asshole." Dean's lips left his nipple, and the rush of cold air on the moistened, aroused skin set his skin twitching.

The words pulled Castiel out of the reverie that Dean's touch had thrust on his thoughts. "Dean—"

"At least I can make you feel good," Dean continued, self-condemnation in his tone.

"Dean," Castiel interrupted more harshly than he intended. He grabbed Dean's cheeks and dragged him into a kiss. "You do not need to pleasure my body by way of apologizing." Dean did not answer with words, instead undoing Castiel's belt and unbuttoning his slacks. They kissed again, slow and tender, as Dean returned his hands to Castiel's hips and rocked their bodies together. Through Dean's jeans, Castiel could feel Dean's erection hard against the cleft of Castiel's butt. An idea struck him. "Instead, you deserve a reward for your apology."

Castiel flicked a kiss to Dean's chin, using his lips to guide the hunter's face up so that Castiel could suck at the sensitive skin beneath, along Dean's Adam's apple and down to the hollow of his neck. "Cas," breathed out Dean appreciatively. Hands trailing down Dean's sides, Castiel rucked his t-shirt up and pressed along each hard muscle, drawing a pleased hum that buzzed along Castiel's skin. It never ceased to amaze him how good it felt knowing that he was bringing the other man pleasure. Every slight hitch of Dean's breathing, every twitch of his body, every encouraging movement, increased the desire that Castiel felt, the heat pooled within him. Sliding down, Castiel settled between Dean's legs and kissed at a nipple, imitating the Dean's actions. "Quick learner, angel," Dean's voice, low and leaking want, was another unexpected source of heat. These were the intangibles that Castiel couldn't comprehend about sex until he experienced them, the way sound could physically excite him, the way anticipation heightened every sense, the way bestowing pleasure created pleasure.

Switching to Dean's other nipple, drawing a moan, Castiel reached down and undid the button and zipper of Dean's pants. Through the thin fabric of Dean's boxers, he palmed at the hunter's erection. At every motion, Dean's hips rose to meet him, and Castiel's own cock strained and twitched against his pants in sympathetic want. Slipping a hand beneath the fabric, Castiel clasped Dean's cock and drew it out. The organ was another source of intrigue, the soft, delicate skin enclosing such hardness and heat. Castiel loved how the hair amidst which it nestled was coarse in comparison to the feathery wisps trailed down Dean's belly and the soft thick strands atop his head. He was fascinated by the contrast between the wrinkled, dangling balls and the smooth, erect shaft. He explored it all as he continued to suck and lick at Dean's nipples, until Dean was whimpering irrepressibly.

"Come on, Cas," Dean rumbled. Castiel used a nail to flick lightly at the slit of Dean's dick, then rubbed along the ridge beneath the head. Pre-come beaded up, pearly droplets. Castiel dragged his thumb through the liquid, smearing it, pressing down on the tip to force out more. Dean shuddered, shifting his hips into the contact. "I want…" Castiel wrapped his hand around the shaft loosely and stroked, the barest of touches against the skin, brushing the ridge with each fingertip. Dean cut off with a guttural groan.

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel left the nipple he'd thoroughly laved and trailed hot kisses down the tense, quivering flesh of Dean's belly. "Tell me how I can gratify you."

The laugh that shook the hunter's body should be criminal, the combination of the sound and the way Dean's dick bucked into his hand forced a low moan from Castiel as if he'd been touched. "We gotta work on your dirty talk," he chuckled. "I want you to…" Dean gave a shocked gasp as Castiel closed his lips over the head of his dick. Dean's body thrust up into the contact, the cheap polyester of the blanket rustled as Dean gripped at it. "Shit, yeah – that. That's good. Do that."

The taste was indescribable. Salt he'd experienced before, there was definitely the tang of the mineral on his lips as he licked at Dean's skin. Other flavors he had no names for, too unfamiliar with food to identify them, struck his tongue. All he was knew was that he liked it. More pre-come came, mixing with his saliva and coating his mouth in a musky flavor that he craved. He kissed the tip, teasing at the slit with his tongue until he was rewarded, and he sucked the precious liquid up. "Fuck," muttered Dean. Castiel had never heard his voice so needy, the word drawn out into a groan. That was another reward. Castiel wanted to hear every noise that he could force out of Dean. During their time in Sabillasville, they had primarily pleasured each other with their hands, and Dean had been too intent on bringing Castiel bliss to lose control of himself.

Making a ring with his lips, Castiel experimentally lowered his head, taking in as much of Dean's length as he could. It was unfamiliar and awkward, the thick cock filling his mouth, brushing the insides of his cheeks. It snagged on his tongue, which seemed perpetually in the way. He felt clumsy and had a flare of anxiety that Dean wouldn't enjoy Castiel's inept attempts at oral stimulation, but his worries dissipated instantly as the head of Dean's dick struck the top of his palate and Dean groaned hugely. Dean's hips rolled, driving him deeper into Castiel's mouth, an inarticulate apologetic noise moaning through Dean's lips. Castiel's entire body was going liquid with pleasure, yet another feeling he'd not have expected, the way he was creeping untouched towards his own release simply because Dean was slowly breaking under his tender ministrations.

Dean's hands threaded gently into Castiel's hair. He didn't apply any pressure, didn't push Castiel, instead allowing Castiel to slip into a gentle, bobbing up-and-down rhythm. Fingers traced the dips of Castiel's scalp, massaging, and Castiel moaned again around the thick length in his mouth. The taste of Dean filled him, a heady flavor that he couldn't get enough of. His vision flickered white. He wanted to take more, wanted to try to get all of Dean into him. Shifting his head, he took in more of Dean, but not enough. There was a constriction in the back of Castiel's throat that interfered with further penetration and he tried different angles as he attempted to find a way to take the head of Dean's cock into that narrow space. Each effort caused Dean to impact the back of Castiel's throat, and groans rolled from Dean one on top of another. Castiel could feel the trembling restraint that kept the hunter from thrusting into him hard, and he loved it, adored Dean's determination not to hurt him. Dean ruffled his hair, rubbing behind his ears. The heat within Castiel's gut swelled and he realized he was trembling too. One of Castiel's hands, seemingly with a mind of its own, found its way to his crotch, and he palmed himself hard through the cloth of his trousers in time to his pumping Dean's dick. Low, desperate sounds died in his lungs, unable to escape around the thickness in his mouth and the increasingly reedy breaths he managed through his nose.

Suddenly, he found the angle he needed, and his lips slipped wetly to the base of Dean's cock, taking it all into his throat, strands of hair tickling at his chin and nose. He repressed a sneeze by swallowing, and Dean responded with the basest, lowest, most unbelievable sound Castiel had ever heard him make. Experimentally, he swallowed again, and the same noise erupted forth. Again, and again, and Dean couldn't even vocalize enough to groan, the sound broke around whispered attempts at Castiel's name. The noises were driving Castiel crazy, behind his closed eyelids his vision sparkled with indistinct colors as if the room were brightly lit. Nails dug into his scalp, Dean's hands shook with the need to push Castiel harder. Frantic, Castiel undid his pants, seized himself and began to stroke, and at the same time, he lifted off Dean and then swallowed back down hard.

"Fuck," groaned Dean. Up again, then down all the way, Dean enormous in his mouth, bruising against his throat. "Cas!" Dean could no longer keep his hips still, he rolled into Castiel's mouth as Castiel took all of him again and again. "Cas…fuck, Cas…fuck…how'd you learn to…" Drawing back, Castiel sucked as hard as he could as he drew out, and Dean cried out. Uncontrollable half-thrusts filled Castiel's mouth with thick semen, and he swallowed it down instinctually, milking come and fervent moans from the gorgeous man. The need coursing through him flared, and Castiel pumped himself harder, lips still sucking lightly at Dean's tip. "Stop, Cas…no, don't…oh, that's good…so good…love your mouth…" Every broken word spiked through Castiel, and he thrust into his hand.

"Dean," he moaned against the hunter's dick, slowly growing limp between his lips.

"Come for me, Cas." The fingers tangled through Castiel's hair caressed him, traced hotly along the ridges of his skull, his face, pressed against his lips.

"Dean!" The heat suffusing Castiel burst into a light, his movements passed beyond his control as he came, catching the semen with his hand as his fingers traced fire along his length.

"That's so fucking hot," murmured Dean tenderly. "You got yourself off taking me, without my doing a fucking thing…" A faint shudder shook Dean's body. Castiel hunched over his spent cock, breathing hard. His mouth tasted like Dean, his ears still echoed with Dean's desperate pleas, pleasure thrummed along his skin like a fever.

"You tasted so good," whispered Castiel, feeling embarrassed for no reason he could put his finger on.

"Are you apologizing?" laughed Dean. Dean's hand slipped under his chin and lifted Castiel's face, and a moment later Dean was leaning against him, kissing him tenderly. Dean's tongue licked through his mouth, gathering up some of the lingering clumps of come so that Dean could taste himself. It seemed like a weird thing to do, yet it was also unbelievably erotic, and a shiver forced a broken moan out of Castiel. Dean chuckled into his mouth. "Give me your hand, angel." When Castiel didn't move, Dean wrapped a hand around Castiel's and drew it up, and Dean carefully, thoroughly licked up every trace of the come that clung to Castiel's flesh. By the time he was done, Castiel felt feverish, body quivering. Dean trailed the fingers of his other hand over Castiel's chest, and the skin twitched, jolting Castiel as if electrified. "You got filthy. Let me clean you up." There was a rustling sound Castiel couldn't place, Dean opened space between them, releasing Castiel's hand with one last suck on his finger. A moment later, something faintly rough wrapped around Castiel's cock, and he eventually realized it was a tissue. Dean cleaned up the semen that Castiel had missed, then cleaned himself up in kind.

Arms wrapped around him. "Hey, you okay?" Dean asked gently, voice thick with post-orgasmic drowsiness. Dean eased Castiel down to the bed as he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "Did you like that?" Castiel nodded again. Feeling bizarrely helpless, he let Dean position their bodies, both of them lying on their sides, Dean's chest pressed supportively to Castiel's back, one of Dean's arms wrapped beneath Castiel's body, fingers splayed across his belly. The other hand trailed soothingly along Castiel's side. Through Dean's boxers and Castiel's slacks, he could feel the hunter's limp dick nestled against his butt. Every breath Dean took was hot and moist on his neck. Considering how recently he'd come, Castiel couldn't understand how tense he still felt, how desperate for Dean's touch, how he longed for the hand stroking against his waist to venture further down. Between his legs, his cock began to harden again.

Dean paused in his tender attentions to squeeze Castiel's shoulder. Against his sensitized skin, the touch was like lightning, and Castiel gave a long, low moan. Dean stiffened.

"Cas, are you…?" The question trailed off as Dean's hand explored down his body and discovered the truth, that Castiel was rapidly achieving an erection every bit as hard as he had been moments before. "Angel has a fast recovery." The fatigue trailed from Dean's voice, replaced with a teasing note that drew another moan. Dean kissed at the top of his spine. "How'd I not know that?" Dean stroked Castiel once, twice, teasing at Castiel's dick until it was fully hard. Shifting, Dean trapped Castiel's arms with his own. His grip left Castiel's cock despite a whimper and a thrusting attempt to follow. "Uh, uh, uh," scolded Dean. He wrapped a leg around Castiel's, effectively immobilizing him. "I've never had a chance to explore you while I wasn't distracted by how much I wanted to fuck your brains out," Dean rubbed his crotch against Castiel's ass, highlighting that he wasn't aroused. "You're gonna love this…"

Fingers crept over Castiel's skin as Dean began to slowly explore the flesh of Castiel's chest. Not an inch was spared, Dean pressed and flicked and lightly scratched, massaged and rubbed and caressed. Dean's fingers were hot against his skin, a contagious heat that left him dizzy. When Dean found a spot that Castiel reacted to particularly strongly, he devoted attention to it. Dean teased and pressed until it felt like fires had been lit in every hollow of Castiel's flesh, flames licking at every muscle. Castiel felt wanton, unable to repress his moans, his body tense against Dean's, straining against Dean's hand. "Dean," he whimpered. "Please."

"Please, what?" Dean nipped at his ear teasingly. Fingers flicked momentarily over Castiel's nipple, then returned to a slow exploration of his breasts and ribs.

"Please…" he stuttered out, unable to articulate what he needed. Yes, he needed Dean to touch his cock, but it was so much more than that, he needed to feel Dean's hands and lips and the strain of Dean's muscles, he needed to hear intoxicating words. He licked at his lips trying to capture the lingering flavor of salty musk. "I need you, Dean."

"What do you need?" The hand that Dean had left splayed on his belly crept down, fingers spreading wide to rest amidst the curly hairs at the base of Castiel's cock and balls. "You gotta tell me."

"Everything," whispered Castiel. Words came and went before he could capture them, swallowed up in pulsing light and heat . Dean's fingers rubbed at the skin surrounding his cock, and Castiel whimpered desperately. "Dean…" Surely the hunter understood!

"All you have to do is ask," whispered Dean. "Fuck, you're hot like this. Gonna get me hard again. That never happens this soon. Would you like that, angel? Would you like if I was inside you?" Castiel moaned, managed to reach with his confined hand and grasp Dean's hip, pushing Dean into him as he rubbed his butt against Dean's crotch. Dean released a shuddering groan, resting his forehead against the back of Castiel's head. "I knew you would," Dean whispered. "Tell me what you need."

"Your hand," gasped Castiel. Dean wasn't hard, but it didn't matter, the words were like sparks to tinder. Castiel could imagine Dean's length within him, imagine the pulsing thrusting pressure against his insides as if it were happening, as if Castiel had ever felt that outside of the djinn dream. The idea of Dean, the real Dean, making love to Castiel drove him wild with desire. His hips caught the phantom rhythm. "On me…on my…" Flailing for sense, he finally found some words that would do. "Stroke my dick, Dean, now!"

The reaction was instant, Dean's hand wrapped around him and forcefully pulled. He stroked up and down hard a few times, paused to tickle at the sensitive head, smeared pre-come over his hands and returned to jerking Castiel off roughly. With a long shuddering moan, Castiel collapsed against Dean, rutting against his body. "Oh," murmured Dean. "Is that what you needed? Why didn't you say so?" Strength enclosed every part of Castiel, wrapped around his chest, confined his legs, gripped his cock. Dean's soul pressed against him, barely contained within Dean's body body, an incandescent glow that reached for Castiel's grace. Light unfolded within him, literally and figuratively. "Beautiful angel," Dean nuzzled at the back of Castiel's neck, a tender contrast to the violence with which he pulled Castiel off. "Let me hear you sing." Dean's hand stilled, a strong, immobile ring around his hand. Moaning, Castiel thrust against it weakly. "Take what you need." Castiel thrust more confidently. "Yeah, just like that. So fucking hot. Take it!" Castiel surged into the grip, balls hitting the back of Dean's hand, and Dean adjusted his grip to accommodate each movement Castiel made.

"Dean!" Castiel cried. Dean hummed approvingly against his neck, the sound tingled through Castiel's body. "Oh!" His body seized, straining to win free of Dean's firm embrace, and his head whipped back. The light exploded in blazing heat. "Yes," he hissed. He thrust hard again, again, and came, the force of his orgasm blanking all his senses.

When awareness returned moments later, he was slumped against the bed. There was sweat beaded on his forehead. Dean was caressing his brow gently, whispering affectionately in his ear. "That was good, Cas," he sighed. There was a long pause, then Dean continued hesitantly, "Will you stay the night?"

"Yes," Castiel rumbled. His voice was hoarse, he felt exhausted and wrung out but extremely good. The idea of leaving was anathema. He needed Dean.

Dean drew away from him, and Castiel whimpered in distress. "Don't worry, angel," Dean murmured. The familiar feel of a tissue was back, Dean cleaned Castiel up, removed Castiel's pants. He was gone again, back again, pulling flush with Castiel. Skin on skin, Dean arced protectively around Castiel, encompassing his whole form, also clad only in boxers. Castiel let his eyes slip shut, relishing the feeling. The only sound was their steady breathing, the only motion was the rise and fall of their chests. Castiel thought Dean must have fallen asleep, and he wiggled a little closer, using his arm to tug Dean's into the fold at his waist. "Castiel," the hunter whispered into his neck, spreading a glow through Castiel that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with love.

"Yes, Dean?"

"I'll talk to Sam, 'kay?"

Shivering, Castiel felt that glow flare, his grace blanketing them both gently. "Thank you."

"Get some sleep," Dean said indistinctly, forgetting that Castiel didn't need rest. Castiel's grace whispered a lullaby in the hunter's ear. Catching the notes, Dean hummed softly, occasional words coming through clear, "all that glitters is gold…she's buying a stairway to heaven…there's a feeling I get, when I look to the west, and my spirit is crying for leaving…ooh, it makes me wonder…" The words trailed off as Dean drowsed.

Angels only felt a limited range of emotions while they inhabited heaven. Anger – wrath, really – and love, perhaps better stated as devotion. Joy, not in the sense of bliss, but rather in the sense of triumph, the elation of the victorious conqueror. Camaraderie with the garrison, loyalty, and duty. There were many things he had not experienced before he came to earth. He knew the words – loneliness, affection, desire, rage, sadness, need – but hadn't experienced them until he took a vessel and spent time with Dean. Now he understood many, but he kept learning more. Love, of course, he kept thinking he understood, and kept learning that it was so much more than he thought, that it kept growing and transforming and triggering other feelings. Affection. Tenderness. Lying close to Dean, aware of the hunter slipping into deep, easy slumber, Castiel was enfolded in warmth and comfort. Pleasure still lingered, made his limbs heavy and his thoughts lethargic, and he experienced more feelings he hadn't known before. Coziness. Comfort. Ease. Safety. With a sigh that released the last tension from his body, he let his let his eyes close and his grace quiet. He could get used to this. He was content.

* * *

Author's End Note: It's been really gratifying and exciting to me that people have enjoyed these stories and have asked me to write more. And, there will be more - one already written (but after writing it I realized I needed to write two or three other stories before that one would make sense...) and one mostly plotted in my head. So, if there's anything you'd like to see, drop me a note, and I'll see what I can manage... :)

This story is continued in Part 4, "Emotional Constipation."

On June 5, 2015, I did a quick run through to fix minor grammatical errors. Please let me know if you spot any problems that I missed.


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